Many times, the ancient ones spoke of; ‘The Day the Nob of Hobs Lay Unbursted’.
Throughout history, and even before it, there have been tales told of that day. Passed down through the generations.
Only ever spoken of, never written down.
For fear of evoking some evil god’s fury upon them for daring to believe.
Murmurs and whispers.
Myth and legend.
The Viziers of Egypt spoke of it.
The Legendary Large Lobed Lawyers of Cimmeria had a brain storming session about it.
The learned scholars of Ancient Greece knew the myth well.
The medicine men of the Apache and the Sioux sang about it in their songs. There was a whole section devoted to the subject in the Great Library of Alexandria before it succumbed to the flames of heathens.
The wise men of Troy discussed it, didn’t understand it, declared war on it and tried to stab it.
It is believed the legend of ‘The Day the Nob of Hobs Lay Unbursted’ was originally encountered scrawled on the surface of a mysterious obsidian tablet found somewhere on the long-changed landmass known as Pangea.
That doesn’t really narrow it down that much but; facts are facts.
Legend tells of a pre-historic civilisation, rich in material wealth and scientific advancement.
They prospered in the harsh environment full of dinosaurs and whopping great scorpions where so many rivals had fallen.
The unnamed civilisation built a great city in the young mountains.
One dark day, a fireball erupted over the eastern horizon.
It hit the city head on, consigning what had taken centuries to build to oblivion in mere seconds.
Most of the great city was vaporised upon impact.
What few survivors there were, wandered back to the ruins of their home days later, when the heat had dissipated.
In the centre of the city, standing proud among the ashes and smouldering debris, un-scorched and unscathed, was a lump of obsidian; 1 cubit tall, 3 palms wide and four fingers thick.
It shone in the afternoon sun. Reflecting the light but at the same time, drawing it in.
The men spoke of the surface of the stone and how it seemed to move when they stared too long.
They felt the stone was sucking the very life-force from their bodies.
The wisest man among them stepped forward to examine the stone.
He saw figures inscribed thereon. Written in a language known to the wise man but containing words that made no sense to his relatively moronic brain.
“Lo.”
They said.
“Listen well to these words and remember them to your progeny.”
They continued.
“The day will come.
When the nations are beset by the sickening of the crow.
And the people’s place in this land will be stationary.
There shall come a time when the sweet oat cake will appear from the place beyond.
When coca bean paste is mixed with the manna of the cow.
And spread evenly on that hallowed oaty surface.
And, when the moon is in the seventh house of Aquarius.
The light of a new day will come from out of the west.
For two prophets will become known.
Their faces twisted in rictus grins.
Forced to smile for eternity and laugh until snot doth dribble from their face holes.
A quantity of sweet, cocoa painted oaty cakes will be brung from afar.
They shall bring forth the Nob of Hobs.
But their hands will be tempered by patience.
For they will refuse their animal instinct to tear the Nob of Hob’s skin.
Their inbuilt desire to rip, with tooth and claw, into the oaty goodness within will be denied.
They will instead sate their hunger on humble broth flavoured with the flowering head of the brassica.
The Hob of Nobs will lay unbursted.
They will place the Hob of Nobs on cushioning made from caterpillar butt juice.
Thence placed inside a vessel which cannot be trespassed upon by the air.
Built into the vessel will be magicks to protect its treasure.
Grass seed from the land where the sun reigns at the time when night is darkest.
Maggot shaped pockets which draw moisture from the very air itself.
The pockets will guard the Hob of Nobs from wetness and sogginess for all time.
And the vessel shall have its name inscribed upon its surface.
And the name it will say on it will be Bis-Cu-Its.
Lo, will the Hob of Nobs be interred until hunger is felt among the prophets once more.
About three hours later.
